The Smurfette Princable
by The What-If Writer
Summary: "Whilst wandering through the deep woods one day, the witch Hogatha encounters a strange little blue creature most people assumed were fable alone." Inspired by the fact that all smurfettes started out bad.


_Based on an idea explain in the note below; Smurfesses._

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The Smurfette Principle.

 _Excerpt from the Book of Forgotten Magic Creatures:_

 _Smurfettes are usually rowdy, headstrong and quick creatures with a knack for mischief. They thrive in town-like villages below ground and are rarely seen, but their tricks have been encountered. Because of their little to no sightings, people question their existence and many believe they are either extinct, or not real at all. They dislike most Male Smurfs. They do, however, have a good relationship with other creatures with equal mischief like imps. They aren't seen as very beautiful by human, fairy and other creature's standards._

 _Smurfettes differ greatly from their male counterparts; Whilst the men are usually gentle, good hearted and cheerful with only good intentions, the women are mischievous creatures with tricks that rival that of imps. Female Smurfs, better known as Smurfettes, once lived with the men as legend has it. It is said that their disagreements caused too much trouble, so the women left the sunny fields above and retreated to dim dwellings below the ground, were large underground villages thrive._

 _..._

A forest dwelling in an unknown land, were few human beings live. A good forest, the kind that never fails to bloom in spring, and remains sturdy under feet of snow in the winter. More could be said about it, if there were anyone else around. Conspicuous clearings were a perfect place for a villain to dwell and suss out the gaps in their plans, and speak to no-one in particular.

Within this clearing, in a deeper part of the forest, a stout, rounded witch was peering into the trees, tapping her chin (nearby a generous couple of moles.)

"Whatever went wrong with that last plan?" She said, her voice chipper and a little sharp at the edges, due to her age. The number of which the colour of her startling orange hair refused to acknowledge. "It was perfect!"

Granted, shape-shifting was one of the oldest tricks in the book – but that was why it was good. You couldn't go through life suspicious of everyone being a shape-shifter, you wouldn't make it out of your theoretically mushroom-shaped door every day. Still, the smurfs were growing savvy. The Smurfette even more so; she'd recognised her voice, woman to woman.

"Hmph!" Hogatha placed her hands on her hips, lips pursed. She'd just have to think of something else. A potion maybe? Hadn't scrounged up a good potion in a while! Now she'd need some due wart and -

 _Rustle._

The small witch stiffened, beady eyes blinking. She had not imagined that, thank you very much.

Rather curious, but not overly afraid, the small witch peered up at the overhanging branches above, squinting slightly.

"Oh well." She shrugged, lightly, and pulled a pocket mirror out from her bodice, rather oddly, and was just adjusting the ends of her hair when -

"Whaaaao!"

Something small, blue and big-eyed landed on the mirror. Powder drifted violently into the air.

The tiny creature hacked at it, then gawked at her, and she at them. The first thing that pranced skirt-wearing through the witch's mind was _smurf._

And that usually entailed a spell or at least trying to stamp them under her foot like she would a mouse. But then she saw lashes on blinking eyes, frazzled black hair poking out from that silly hat – and a dress, simple, plain, and even a bit shabby.

It wasn't Smurfette at all. The shoes held no heel, and the feet were large and round, there was a very notable tooth poking out from this girl's lip – girl it was, and not a very pretty one at all. There was no delicacy about her, though small she was, she looked very hard to stamp on indeed despite the fact her knees were knocking.

"Eee!" The little creature said, though delayed, "Don't eat me, ma'am, I haven't got any meat but bones!"

"What _are_ you?" Hogatha replied instead, practically gaping at the little creature sat in her hands. "You're not Smurfette!"

"...Smur _fess_ , Mistress." The creature said, standing now on wobbly knees. "Whoa! Smurfess is the word."

Smurfess? What a strange notion.

"But," The witch tried to reel in her composure. She was a magically inclined woman after all, she knew a good deal about magic creatures. For her own pride, she mustn't seem ignorant, "There are no _real_ smurf women! Unless magic is involved."

The little creature brought a less-than nimble hand to her chin, bewildered, "Em, there is, miss, but. We don't usually come up above...ground."

"...Indeed? There are _more_?" The idea was baffling, and she eyed the girl again, more pointedly – the creature squirmed under her gaze, "The only smurfettes I've seen are that little brat and that princess!"

"Princess, Mistress?" The girl repeated, nothing but respect – which, the old witch noted, was rather flattering. Most of the youth of today were disrespectful little gnats. Hogatha snorted,

"Hmph, overly delicate little miss with golden hair and perfect features! No match for _me_ , of course!"

The girl broke into clumsy little chortles, "A _pretty_ smurfess, ma'am?" Nervous as she was, the girl seemed to find that especially silly. She raised her arms, "Smurfess aren't delicate, we're meant to be sneaky!"

She said it as if it were a mantra, a code. Then her posture and smile faltered, her head dropping. Scraggly black hair fell past her cheeks. "Golden hair sounds nice though, mistress." She tugged at her own locks quietly. "We're not mean to be de-li-cate."

"You don't seem that _hardy,_ girl." Hogatha drawled, one hand lifting away to point in the air. It was strange indeed, having a conversation like this with a little smurf that had tumbled out of the sky, "Though I do wonder – if you 'smurfess' live underground, why are you falling out of trees."

The girl fidgeted, "Had to leave, Ma'am. Some of my sisters, also. It...happens sometimes, when..."

Silence.

Hogatha placed the creature down upon the ground, thinking, "I see. Tossed out, were you?" She allowed a degree of smugness into her tones. The girl looked away, fists balling.

"Something like that ma'am." She paused, then peered up at her curiously, "You said 'smurf!' like you knew them, mistress – so you've seen the men? And you say there's _girls_ with them?"

She might as well as said: There are cats living with the dogs in their kennels. Hogatha snorted, "Know them! They have been getting in my way for years now – silly little jubilant things." The girl didn't seem insulted by that terminology at all, but nodded affirming - as if she'd heard it all before. Though there was no malice – it was simply a fact to her.

Hogatha's eyes narrowed, "As for the girls – only two, a red-haired hooligan and the Smurfette, I mentioned her. Prancing around picking flowers."

The little smurfess clapped her hands onto her cheeks and _gasped,_ as if it were the most horrific activity known to man _._ "It can't be!"

Oh, but Hogatha went on as if detailing a grisly tale, "And _singing!"_

"No!" The girl said, filled with dread, "Head Smurfess would bounce her off the walls for that!"

The with laughed, loudly at such an image. "Indeed –snort- that would be a picture!"

"Fairies pick flowers and sing, and Head Smurfess says that fairies don't do well with Smurfesses at all." The girl said, plodding down onto a rock.

'Head Smurfess' – very fetching title. Hogatha rubbed her chin slowly, thinking this over. Potential alley, perhaps? Though she didn't work well with others.

Her eyes fell on the toothy girl, picking at a stab on her leg, "That isn't lady-like at all, dear." She found herself saying, and blinked at realising this.

The smurfess hopped to her feet again, bobbing a curtsey. "My name is Greta, mistress, from the underground villages."

"Well, if introductions are in order," Hogatha proudly place a hand over her chest, closing her eyes, "I am Hogatha, the Witch!"

A short gasp came next, one she always expected, but when she opened her eyes Greta was not cowering in fear, but gazing up in awe, "Well and truly, a witch? Wow!" She squeaked, hands coming together, "You can do magic and such?"

"Well of course!" Hogatha said, laughing curtly, "The best magic around!"

For added affect, she rounded on a perfectly innocent flower. With a waggle of her fingers, the flower morphed...into a rather nasty looking fly-trap. Greta leaped back, arms in the air, but continued to stare open-mouthed at the sight. "Woooa..."

She poked the biting plant and leaped away when it snapped at her. Hogatha chuckled smugly from above, "That, my girl, is but a simple trick!"

The girl's fascination was all very flattering – but then an idea blossomed in the old witch's mind. A smurf, like her little enemies, but at the same time – different. That could be useful. That could be _diabolical._

"Tell me, sweet girl," The witch drawled pleasantly, placing her hands together, "What do your sisters – the Head Smurfess, believe of your men-folk."

The scraggly smurfess fidgeted, digging her pudgy foot into the floor, "Well, miss, the Men are born only once every blue moon, and live above ground. The older girls say they live long, and don't do much. Head Smurfess says they're rather silly." She shrugged. There was a look of discomfort when she mentioned the birth of the menfolk - once in a blue moon. Clearly it wasn't a well-conversed subject.

"Silly indeed!" Hogatha snorted, waving a hand, "Why, you should see those little blue bobbles!"

The girl chuckled loudly, a hand over her mouth. The noise was decidedly impish. "My sisters say they used to play tricks on one of the old men villages!"

"Oh?" That sounded promising indeed! "Let us walk my girl, I could use a good story while I collected my potion ingredients."

"Potion ingredients..." Greta breathed, appearing almost dazed, "Wow! Real potions!"

"Yes," And at that moment, Hogatha saw her chance. A chance for a very easy deal, and perhaps a less-than complicated partnership. No trickery, simply bargain. "Tell you what, Greta my dear – you help me ahem, _pester_ the smurfs a little as payback, and I'll show you all kinds of potions to share with your sisters!"

The ones apparently wandering the wilderness, too. The girl clasped her hands together, beaming with her large protruding tooth, "Really?! That's wonderful! Smurfess are classic mischief weavers, mistress, I know all sorts of tricks!"

And by cue the two began walking along, the little smurfess jogging beside the plump witch's striding feet. There was only excitement in the little creature's gait, no malice. Mischief was but a cousin, though, and who knows – a little encouragement, and Greta would come to adore more...darker practices.

So they went deeper into the forest, leaving foreboding behind them.

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*Hides in shame*  
Yeah. This was an OLD idea, from an old drawing I did back three years ago.

Since all smurfettes have been 'bad natured' to begin with, and after reading books about all-female fairies like 'Knife', This idea bloomed about female smurfs - that is, _Smurfesses_ , to differ them from Smurfette and Sassette.

Personally, this fic isn't very well written, as I did it on a whim. But, considering its smurfs, I'm not too bothered. Anyway, I imagined 'smurfesses' would be mischievous, imp-like, countering their menfolk's whimsy with cunning. Most smurfesses found underground (they burrow like moles) are sisters, led by the mother or eldest, Head Smurfess.  
In my story, the Head Smurfess is Greta's much older sister.

Greta was originally going to appear in a small fic detailing she and Hogatha's angst over beauty, as I disliked the whole 'beauty equals goodness' that happened with Smurfette. I personally liked Smurfette's original, dark-haired design.

That inspired me to create a race of all-female trouble-makers with black hair, round shoes and conniving minds. As Greta said - a smurfess would've kicked Smurfette in the toosh for singing that song.

Greta isn't overly malicious, just rather naive and following her 'mischief maker' nature. This is just a one-off fic, again, something I did on a whim.

The reason Greta grew uncomfortable with the mention of the blue moon is explained in the Book of Forgotten Magical creatures - when baby boys are born in the smurfette village, they are sent away...like Baby Smurf.


End file.
